


Laima's Chosen

by canis_m



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Daddy Issues, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Will Graham, Scenting, sexual dreams about deer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_m/pseuds/canis_m
Summary: A high school senior in Louisiana gets ambushed by an unexpected heat.  Good thing there's a doctor on call.For #SummertimeSlick.





	Laima's Chosen

Quiet in the hallways: class in session. The guidance counselor greeted Hannibal outside the nurse's office with a rueful smile. "Thanks for coming on short notice."

"Not at all," said Hannibal. "How's the late bloomer?"

"Not happy," said Dr. Bloom. "We haven't been able to reach his father—he's a contractor, does boat repairs. Mom's not in the picture."

"'Not happy.' Physical distress?"

"More emotional. He thought of himself as a beta until today, and I think he felt secure in that identity. It's a lot to process."

"It certainly can be," said Hannibal. "A senior, you said?"

She nodded. "Few months shy of eighteen. He and his dad just moved here in August, before classes started. There were some disciplinary issues at a previous school. Nothing here. Seems very bright, but he hasn't been very talkative." Her smile grew self-deprecating. "At least not with me." 

"Well, let's have a look and proceed from there."

Dr. Bloom ushered him into the office and the door of a smaller room within it. She knocked softly. "Will? The doctor's here. Can we come in?"

A hoarse _okay_ from within. Dr. Bloom opened the door. The lights in the room were dimmed. The walls were ugly cinderblock, institutional, grime-gray. There was a chair, a low cabinet, a narrow bed with a mattress covered in green vinyl. A cotton blanket lay draped over the end of the bed, a nominal concession to some omegas' need to hide or nest. 

A young man sat on the bed with knees drawn up to his chest, ignoring the blanket, making himself small. 

His clothes were rumpled--gray shorts and plaid shirt, both of poor quality--but he was finely made, with startling features. A nest of dark curls. Pink ears protruding from them, darkened with a flush. Eyes the color of an unruly sea. They flickered up, then down as Hannibal entered the room.

The scent was delicate, unmistakable. Nectar to a bee. Hannibal took care not to audibly sniff.

Dr. Bloom stepped forward. "Will, this is Dr. Lecter. He can answer any questions you don't feel comfortable asking me. I'll be right outside if you need me."

Will nodded. He remained huddled on the narrow bed. If anything, he seemed to shrink, flattening further against the wall. He licked his lips.

"You're an alpha," he said, after Dr. Bloom had shut the door. 

"And a physician," said Hannibal. "Between the two, I hope I may be of some use." He pulled up the chair and sat. "How are you feeling?"

"I think 'not right' sums it up."

"I'll need you to be a little more specific. Since you're presenting on the late end of what's considered the normal range, we want to be sure there's nothing amiss."

Will's look suggested that in his view there was plenty amiss, but he uncurled a little from his huddle against the wall. "I feel feverish. Overheated. Like there's a film clinging to the surface of my brain. When I woke up this morning I thought I must be coming down with something. Then I got here and everything smelled all...high definition." His lip curled. "Also I'm...leaking...from places that don't usually leak."

"Taking a suppressant will decrease the flow, but the effects won't be immediate. Did the nurse or Dr. Bloom give you a hygienic pad?"

Will gave a dire grimace of a smile. "I stuffed toilet paper down my shorts," he said.

"We'll get you something more suitable." Hannibal opened his bag. He took the boy's vitals, noting the slightly elevated temperature without alarm. "Not unusual during the onset stage. Feeling feverish and a bit hazy is also normal. You may find yourself responding strongly to others' personal scents, particularly those of alphas."

"Like yours," said Will slowly. "You smell--" A long pause. "You smell good."

Hannibal quashed his smile. "Thank you."

Will blinked, then squinted. The scrutiny seemed aimed chiefly at himself. "Sorry, was that inappropriate? Is being inappropriate a symptom?"

"A degree of lowered inhibition is typical. If you continue to scent me, you may experience an increase in the flow of your natural lubrication--"

"No kidding," muttered Will, looking away. "So it's like being on the rag, except I'll be leaking from a different orifice, and instead of cramps I'll have fits of lust?" The back of Will's head met the cinderblock wall. His throat worked visibly in an effort to swallow his fate. "God. How soon can I take drugs to make it stop?" A thought seemed to strike him, and dawning horror with it. "Do I have to wait for my dad? Because I'm a minor?"

"Most non-emergency treatment would require parental consent," said Hannibal, "but there's an exception for 'family planning services.' If you like, we can start you on suppressants immediately." 

Relief spread in Will's face, followed by a return of tension. The mobile play of feeling was remarkable. "How much are they? I don't--we don't have insurance."

"Thanks to the pharmaceutical companies, I'm well supplied in the way of samples. You can take your first dose now--" Hannibal reached into his bag and drew out a pill packet, "--but for a full supply, I'll need to stop at my office." He paused. "You're welcome to come with me. There's a private room you can use to study or rest until your father can arrange to pick you up." He cast a meaningful glance at their surroundings. "It may be more comfortable than this one."

"Can't imagine it'd be less," said Will.

*

The doctor's car was parked in one of the visitor spots, black and gleaming. Will tossed down his book bag and slid into the passenger seat: dark leather, immaculate. Then the smell hit, and he nearly toppled sideways out of the car.

Dr. Lecter hovered, hand on the passenger door. He'd opened it for Will, to Will's incredulity, like some kind of gentleman alpha relic from a previous century. Will hoped no one in chem lab had been staring out the window to see it happen. 

Concern showed on the doctor's mild face. "Would you prefer to have Dr. Bloom drive you? I'm sure she'd be willing."

Will thought of the guidance counselor, the stylish dress that clung to her figure, the tepid scent he'd never thought bland until today. Her look of too-knowing sympathy as she'd handed him a pad. She was a beta, but she knew what it was like to leak. Will jerked his head in an emphatic no.

Dr. Lecter closed the door and came around to the driver's seat. Will could barely hear the engine's purr when he turned the key. 

"Kind of car is this?" he asked, to distract himself from the scent, which was _everywhere,_ dizzying, far more concentrated than it had been in the nurse's office. His head tipped back on the leather headrest and lolled. 

"A Bentley."

Will peered at the dash as they pulled out of the lot. "European?"

"British." Dr. Lecter glanced sideways. "Shall I open the window?"

At Will's unsteady nod, Dr. Lecter reached for the controls. The passenger side window slid down. The rush of clear, humid air brought both relief and--from the just-wakened part of Will that appalled him--a twist of loss. He slumped toward the open window, this close to sticking his head through it to ride with his face in the wind like a dog. It seemed a better choice than slumping the other way and plastering his nose to Dr. Lecter's sleeve.

His glance strayed sideways, to Dr. Lecter's hands on the wheel at eight and four. Dexterous, confident in their grasp. Will wondered how it would feel if they touched his neck, then tore his gaze away.

He wasn't gay, at least not if previous attractions were anything to go by. Insofar as he liked people, which wasn't much, he liked girls. Alphas were mostly insufferable. The idea of finding them sexy, if only under the influence of hormones--of slavering after their big alpha dicks--made Will want to claw his own face, or maybe the car's fancy leather interior.

Dr. Lecter kept his eyes on the road. They were heading into the old part of town, the good part, all big houses ponderous enough to qualify as mansions in Will's mind, with broad porches and manicured yards and mature trees hung with moss. 

"Dr. Bloom tells me you're a recent arrival," Dr. Lecter said. "How are you finding the school?"

"It's a school," said Will. 

"Are there many other omegas in your class?"

Will snorted. "There's not even an AO students' union." They were supposed to be five percent of the population, give or take, but he knew of only two omega seniors, both girls. Families that could afford it didn't send their omega kids to shitty Louisiana public schools--coed schools, where they might get bullied or knocked up by randy teenage alphas. He'd be the only male omega in his class.

Just when he'd thought maybe school would be endurable here, if he kept his head down and did his work. A few more months, a few more credits and he'd be done, gone, off to basic training at Cape May. Did the Coast Guard even let omegas serve on active duty? He shut his eyes and pulled his arms close to his ribs.

At that moment a fresh spurt of wetness-- _slick,_ he thought, forcing himself to think it--oozed from his butthole, squishing up and down the crack of his ass. Will stiffened. He held himself rigid, praying it wouldn't soak through the pad, through his shorts, stain the doctor's expensive leather seats. 

Even if it didn't, an alpha could probably smell it. He should've asked to ride with Dr. Bloom, after all. He turned his face miserably to the window's edge.

"Will?"

"Sorry," rasped Will.

"No need for apology. The changes in your body are--"

"If you say 'perfectly natural,'" said Will, voice cracking, "I will jump out of this moving car."

Dr. Lecter was silent for a moment. "If you'd like to talk about what you're feeling, I'd be glad to lend an ear. I'm no Dr. Bloom, but I've treated many young omegas. Nothing you say will surprise me."

"What I'm feeling is that human biology is bullshit," said Will.

Dr. Lecter didn't smile. "It may seem hard to believe at the moment, but in some cultures, presentation is an occasion to celebrate. In Lithuania, omegas were considered blessed by Laima, goddess of birth and fate. At first heat they were crowned with flower garlands and feasted, before and after."

"Lucky them," muttered Will. He paused, considering the doctor's accent. "Is that where you're from?"

"Originally, yes." The car slowed. "Here we are."

Will had expected an office building, but they'd pulled up to the curb in front of a stately double-gallery house, flanked by other stately houses and a Catholic church. A low fence of wrought iron lined the edge of the yard, too short to keep people out or dogs in. Aside from that, it was a good yard: generous, green, dotted with hurricane lilies, shaded by a live oak that spread soft fingers of moss over the eaves. 

A sign along the sidewalk read, in neat gold lettering: _H. Lecter, M.D. Family Practice._

H. Lecter, M.D. rolled up the window and unbuckled his seat belt. As soon as the window sealed shut, the scent of him overtook Will again. Will drew a shaky breath of it. If he'd ever noticed how alphas smelled before, he'd found them off-putting, too musky, rank with masculine excess. Dr. Lecter smelled intricate, with a vein of sweetness, like the trace of caramel in good bourbon. The kind you could get hammered on without regret. When Will didn't budge in his seat, the doctor paused with one hand on the door. 

"Will you come in?" he asked.

Will turned his head. He didn't want to move, and not just because he was afraid to see if he'd stained the seat. Fucked up as it was, he didn't want to leave this small, dark, enclosed space that reeked of alpha. Not for any place other than his own shitty bedroom in the shitty rental house.

The words welled up of their own volition, like slick. "Could I maybe just...wait here, while you go in?" He hated asking for things, and here he was, asking. His eyes met Dr. Lecter's. He was pretty sure they reflected some portion of how pathetic he felt. "Maybe I could get a ride home?"

Dr. Lecter's pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he spoke. "It would be best if someone remained near you, at least for the next several hours. Adverse reactions to suppressants are uncommon, but not unheard of." He looked conflicted, as if denying the request of a heat-stricken omega contradicted his principles. "Is there someone who could stay with you at your home?"

Will looked away. He could lie. Invent a neighbor, a family friend, a local aunt. Say they'd come over and keep an eye on him. He shook his head.

"Not unless you want to." He felt a dim disbelief at himself for saying it aloud.

"I'm more than flattered to be asked." Dr. Lecter's voice grew gentle and low. Will wanted to roll in it, and to yank back the part of him that wanted to roll by the scruff of its neck. Yank it back and lock it up in a shed. "I only wish it were appropriate. Even if it were, I have appointments this afternoon. Would you like to try again to reach your father?"

Reluctantly Will took out his phone. The call rang, and rang, and went to voice mail, as it had when Dr. Bloom had tried before. Will cut it off without leaving a message. Dr. Lecter was watching, solemn-faced.

"He's not very good about checking his phone," said Will, hating that it sounded like an excuse. "Forgets he turned the ringer off."

Dr. Lecter shifted toward him in the driver's seat, all earnest brown eyes and sandy brown hair that fringed over the side of his brow. "I understand you'd prefer to be at home. Let's at least see that there are no ill effects from the medication first. If in a few hours all seems well, and there's still no word from your father, I'll be happy to drive you."

Will's shoulders sank. It was hard to say no to an alpha, let alone one that sounded so goddamn rational and adult. He nodded silently. He dragged his book bag onto his lap, then opened the door before Dr. Lecter could sweep around the car and do it for him.

As they walked up to the office, the doctor asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"If not now, you may be soon. Do you like profiteroles?"

Will squinted sideways. "Why?" 

"Because I made some to share with my staff. I'm afraid there's an excess."

Will shouldered his slumping book bag with a huff. "For my presentation feast?" They stepped onto the porch. Through the front window Will could see an airy waiting room, a reception desk, a young woman behind it. He sidled closer to Dr. Lecter without thinking. "Do I get a flower crown, too?"

Dr. Lecter's arm came around Will, gently shepherding, as he held open the door. "It would be my pleasure."

*

After cream puffs and iced tea and instruction in the dosage of suppressants, Dr. Lecter led Will upstairs. The house's main floor looked like a regular doctor's office, more or less: examination rooms, nurse's station, a modest lab. Upstairs, it looked more like the private residence it had once been. They passed one closed door before Dr. Lecter opened another, gesturing for Will to precede him in.

They might have stepped into the bedroom of a seaside bungalow, the kind tourists with money rented on the Gulf. There was a double bed--not a hospital bed, a real one--with a coverlet of soft green and a woven blanket folded across the foot. The desk and bedside table were white wicker. On one wall hung a framed painting: a willowy pair of browsing deer. A single window overlooked the church next door. There were no distracting scents, only the mild smell of clean linen.

"So, you...run a bed and breakfast on the side?" asked Will. Dr. Lecter smiled.

"It's not the first time I've played host to the newly presented. Some as young as thirteen. I find young people are more comfortable in a room that feels less clinical."

Will imagined going into heat at thirteen years old, at school, and winced. He'd been spared that nightmare, at least. Thank the Lithuanian goddess of small favors.

Dr. Lecter drew the curtains, closing off the world, leaving the room soft and dim. "There's a call button on the bedside table. If you begin to feel ill beyond the symptoms we discussed, please use it. Don't hesitate. Now is not the time to be macho."

Will huffed through his nose, but nodded. He dropped his book bag by the side of the bed.

"The restroom is next door, toward the stairs. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll check back in an hour or two." 

The doctor closed the door as he left, taking his scent with him.

At the click of the latch, Will deflated onto the bed. Fever still simmered in him, but the room was quiet and cool. Everything about it was nicer than his own bedroom, the one in the rental house that barely registered as home. No water stains on the ceiling here, no unsavory blotches of unknown origin on the rug. The bed looked clean and soft, inviting. Will toed off his grubby shoes and crawled onto it, belly down, mashing his chin in the pillows.

It wasn't human touch, but to press his body against something solid felt good. The clean pad in his shorts soaked up his slick. He slid his hands under the pillow, rubbed his cheek against its pliancy, trying not to feel forlorn at the loss of Dr. Lecter's scent.

No sooner did his groin have something to rub against than the heat in him pooled there. His dick began to thicken between his legs. Groaning, Will buried his face and gave a few hopeless swivels of his hips. 

His erection throbbed from wobbly to damn the torpedoes in record time. A haze fogged Will's mind, and he let his hips roll. His last grasp at coherent thought was _fuck_ if he'd make a mess on Dr. Lecter's nice clean bed, like the filthy swamp rat he was. Flinging out an arm, he groped for the bedside table, snatched tissues from the box, and rolled to his back.

With shaky hands he got his fly open. His breath came in shallow pants. A few pulls was all it took--a few pulls, and his memory of the smell in Dr. Lecter's car.

Slick gushed from his hole even as he shot his wad, like he was coming from both sides. His mind went blessedly blank, and the taut need in his body eased, at least in part. If some dissatisfaction lingered in the region of his ass, at least he felt better than before. For a little while he floated. Then he looked down bleary-eyed at the mess on his hands, and wiped them clumsily with tissues. A couple of drops had caught his shirt; he swiped those hurriedly, too.

Enough awareness remained for him to flop over the side of the bed and cram the tissues into the trash bin. Then he crumpled into a fetal curl, heaved a tapped-out sigh, and let his eyes fall shut.

*

The fires were lit, the table set. Summer fruits lay heaped on gleaming platters: plums and dark red cherries, golden apricots, green grapes with taut, glossy skins. Every bowl was filled but one, the one that sat at Will's place. 

There were others at the feast, merrymakers, a feminine covey of vague goodwill. Will's sense of them was blurred and distant. They'd set the garland on him, touched his curls for luck, then let him be, to let him prepare himself to meet the god. The crown sat lightly on his head, smelling of greenery, petals splaying at the corner of his eye. 

A cup gleamed in his hand, made of horn or wood or bone. When he raised it to his mouth, its smelled of honey. He drank and felt the flush suffuse him, from his lips to his belly to the base of his spine. 

After a time the presence of others diminished. There was a door, one that led to a garden or a wood. A woman stood beside it, a dark-haired priestess, her robe clinging to her curves. She smiled at Will, encouraging--it was time--and opened the door.

Will pushed back his seat and stood, unsteady: the wine had gone to his head. He wore a robe, too, the green of new growth; as he stood it came unbelted, slipping from his shoulders to the floor. He pushed the empty bowl aside and bent, laying himself across the table, arms above his head and feet outspread. Cool air prickled on his heated nape. His heart beat hard in the nave of his chest.

He heard the footfalls first, the clip of cloven hooves on stone. He heard the low sough of breath. 

Will turned his head to see the beast behind him, a massive stag, its antlers twined with leaves of linden. Its eyes on Will were liquid, dark and steady; their regard pored over him, heady with intent. A hum arose, like the sound of bees in clover, a tremulous, persistent din. Will shivered. His slick was flowing, trickling down his thighs in thin rivulets to the floor.

The stag bent. Leaves scattered from the branched antlers to flutter to Will's back. The antlers seemed to grow in size and breadth as they spread over him, casting shadows on the table that narrowed to attenuated tines. Will felt the stag's muzzle drift along his backbone, felt the heat of its soft breath on his skin. 

He knew what was about to happen. He hid his face in his crooked arm. The stag shook its head, and petals rained. Its breath touched the small of Will's back.

Between one heartbeat and the next Will's nerve failed him. The scent of fear soured the air, wilting leaves and browning fruit. Wait, he tried to say--his mouth moved with intention, but words refused to form. Wait, I'm not. I'm not--

The stag lifted his great head.

*

His phone was jangling, the chords of "Proud Mary" rolling half-muffled to his ear. Will grunted and swung one hand toward the source of the noise, hooking the strap of his bag. Squinting, he dug out the phone and stared at the screen. 

_Dad._

He fumbled it to his ear. "'Lo?"

"Willy?" Noise on the other end of the line, a buzz of voices, the clink of glass on glass. His dad's voice raised to overcompensate. It barely slurred. "You all right? Had a call from the school."

Will dragged a hand over his face. His glance fell to the bedside table. Beside the box of tissues and the call button sat a full glass of water, one that hadn't been there before he slept.

A wreath of flowers circled the glass. 

Will stared. The flowers were hurricane lilies, the kind that bloomed after rain. Their spidery petals interlaced with one another, creamy gold, twined together with long stems of green. Will reached to touch them with his free hand, disbelieving. They were real. In spite of everything, a smile pulled at the side of his mouth. 

"I'm okay, Dad," he said. "They sent me home sick."

"Sick?" He could hear the frown. Will hardly ever missed a day. His dad hadn't raised him to skip school for a thing like the common cold. "You all right? What's the matter?"

"I'm okay. It's nothing fatal. I got a ride." His fingers traced the petals, the way they bloomed like fireworks on sky. "I'll tell you when you get home, okay?" It was no use saying _get a cab_ or _give the keys to someone else_. His dad would say _I'm fine, I'm fine to drive. Couple of drinks, that's all._ "See you tonight."

He ended the call and blinked at his phone. The time was after five. His mouth was parched; he reached for the glass of water and drained it. The pad clinging to his ass felt sodden, but the flow of slick had slowed. Right now he could barely feel it. Will shifted on the bed, testing with an open palm for wet spots, and found none. 

He shuffled to the hall bathroom to change the pad. In the hallway voices carried from downstairs: the receptionist seeing a patient out. 

Back in the bedroom, he straightened the coverlet, then sat down on it gingerly. He picked up the wreath of flowers and laid it on his lap. The backs of his eyes smarted a little as he held it, but maybe his heat could be blamed for that, too. Hormones seething. 

Footsteps sounded in the hall, followed by a knock at the door.

"Come in," said Will, still cradling the wreath in his hands.

Dr. Lecter opened the door, eyes warming at the sight of Will awake. His white coat was gone, leaving only shirt and tie. The shirt seemed to fit him--to outline the span of his muscled shoulders--with unduly scrupulous accuracy. Tailored, maybe, thought Will. A doctor could afford it. 

The scent of alpha wafted toward Will as he entered. Will lifted his face and tried not to gulp a lungful. It wasn't maddening, the way it had been in the car, but it still smelled good.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Lecter asked. "You were sound asleep when I last looked in."

"Okay," said Will, "ish. More normal, less...drippy." 

"I'd expect the medication to be taking effect by now. All on course."

Will gestured at the flower crown. "You made this?"

Dr. Lecter looked neither smug nor abashed. He sat down on the bed parallel to Will, leaving a decorous space between them. "I did." 

And I'd do it again, implied his tone. A smile twitched at Will's mouth again. "Didn't think you were serious."

"I suspected you didn't."

"Thanks. It's nice. It's really good. You could do flowers for weddings if the whole--" Will waved his hand "--doctor thing doesn't pan out."

"Would you like me to put it on you?"

Will shut his mouth. Their eyes met. In Dr. Lecter's he saw kindness, good humor without a scrap of mockery. He looked down, away, to the crown on his lap. He nodded.

Dr. Lecter lifted the crown, placed it on Will's head with careful ceremony, and began to adjust it. His fingertips ghosted on Will's hair as he worked. " _Lycoris_ has a number of common names. Surprise lily, schoolhouse lily--"

"Naked lady," drawled Will.

"In Japan the red variety, _L. radiata,_ is called _higanbana,_ the flower of the other shore. Associated with death and funerary rites. They grow in my garden also. But that would be the province of Giltine, not Laima." The doctor stopped fussing with the wreath and sat back. "There."

There was no mirror in the room. Will picked up his phone and put the camera on reverse to see. A puff of breath escaped him. The flower crown looked silly, of course. Never mind what Dr. Lecter's expression seemed to suggest.

"Will you take a photo?"

"What? No." Pulling a face, Will laid his phone aside. "I'm not into selfies."

"What if one day your future child asks to see how it all began? Papa at his presentation."

 _Your future child._ The thought struck like a thunderbolt. Will let the shock of it sear him and pass though, leaving profound unpreparedness in its wake. He curled his hand on the coverlet to anchor it, to keep it from straying to his belly. 

"They'll have to use their imagination," he said.

Dr. Lecter nodded at the phone. "Have you heard from your father?"

"Yeah, he called." Will licked his lips. "He can't, uh, can't get here right away. It would be a while before he could pick me up." He grasped the phone again without purpose, rotating it in his hands. "I was wondering if."

"Of course." Dr. Lecter rose. "Let me collect a few things and we'll go." 

Will gathered his bag. As they went downstairs, the doctor said, "I hate to send you away without supper."

"I'll get dinner at home," Will said. There was store-brand mac and cheese, the boxed kind, and a fresh pack of hot dogs, untouched. What better dinner than wiener mac in honor of his newfound biological need for dick?

Dr. Lecter looked unsatisfied. "At least let me send the rest of the profiteroles with you. No, I insist."

Will subsided and settled to wait in the reception room, in what must once have been the house's parlor. The receptionist had gone. She'd looked twenty-something, pretty, with long brown hair. Will hadn't caught her scent--too busy drowning in Dr. Lecter's. He'd been grateful beyond measure when she hadn't tried to talk to him as they came in.

The doctor reappeared with his leather bag and a container of profiteroles. He drew a key fob from his pocket and reached for the door.

Will balked, almost without meaning to, as light glared from the open doorway. A dumb reluctance seized him, the same one he'd fought before leaving Dr. Lecter's car. Stay here, whined his nether brain, here in this nice den, with alpha. Dr. Lecter halted with him, attentive. Will looked down to his shoes, feeling his ears burn. 

"Sorry," he muttered. His flush was milder than before--maybe it wasn't even heat that caused it, just mortification. "I thought--I thought I was okay."

"You are very much okay, Will," Dr. Lecter murmured. "You've endured a great deal today already. With grace and resilience, I might add." He closed the door and stepped closer, into Will's space, as if to shield him. Will tried to muster indignation at the shrinking-violet treatment, and largely failed. "Would you like something to wrap around you--a blanket or jacket? I could lend you my coat."

That white coat draped around his shoulders, smelling of alpha--wasn't that a gem of an idea. Will shook his head. What he was about to ask for was even worse. 

"Could you, um. Before we go out, could you." The floorboards might swallow him before he managed the words. "Put your hand on my neck. Just for a minute."

He didn't look at Dr. Lecter. He couldn't. He waited, head lowered, not with submission but the crumbling weight of shame.

Warmth settled on his nape, above his collar, spreading to cup his neck. For a moment the hand rested there, broadly reassuring, thumb grazing over skin in cautious strokes. Then it gave a gentle squeeze.

Will closed his eyes. His lips parted, and a tiny sound escaped him. He refused to call it a whimper, even if it was. 

"Why does it feel like that?" he mumbled, swaying. Into the touch and the steady strength behind it, the all-too-sufferable alpha at his side. Dr. Lecter's thumb slid upward, into the lowermost curls of his hair.

"We are as God made us," Dr. Lecter said.

*

Against his better judgment Hannibal left Will at home, alone, with no assurance that he would be fed properly. The house stood at the end of a dirt drive, far from the nearest neighbors. Bald cypress surrounded it, dwarfing its ramshackle single story, not much larger than a trailer. The trailer park itself lay just up the road. 

Will had been abashed to let him see it. There was no vehicle in the driveway, no sign of the senior Mr. Graham.

Hannibal had left his card and firm instructions that if Will began to feel ill, he should call, regardless of the hour. Will had peered at the card as he climbed out of the car, still wearing his garland. With the cypress grove behind him, lit by striations of descending sun, he might have been a wood nymph strayed into the realm of men.

"Hannibal?" he'd asked, clutching his backpack with one arm, profiteroles in the other. "Like the general?"

"Elephants and all," Hannibal said. 

It had been difficult to let him go. More difficult than Hannibal expected. Part of him had wanted to demand entry, to cook for Will and see him settled safely in bed, to stay and confront the father who had better things to do than attend to his newly presented omega son.

Even now Will's scent clung to the car's interior. Hannibal drew a finger across the passenger seat, as a child would through cake icing, and held it just above his upper lip. He tilted his head back and forth in increments, the better to distinguish subtle notes. His lip curled in a flehmen response. Then he lowered his hand and flicked the headlights on.

At the office he went upstairs directly, leaving the hall lights off. He entered the room where Will had stayed and closed the door behind him. No sense in letting precious molecules escape.

The scents here were more powerful: heat and slick, sweat and lovely semen. Hannibal bent to the waste bin, unerring. He removed the cover and set it aside, the way he might uncork a young wine and decant to let it breathe. 

He eased to the bed, hands resting on his thighs, and lifted his nose to the exquisite air.

**Author's Note:**

> For Hannigram A/B/O Library's #SummertimeSlick festival (prompt: "surprise heat"). Alternate title: _Soshite Hannigram ga Hajimaru_
> 
> You can find me at [unicornmagic.tumblr.com](unicornmagic.tumblr.com)


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